Sunday, November 8, 2015

Do you dream of being Reckless in Love

I hope you’re all breathless for the next installment of the
Maverick
Billionaires! Bella and I had such a wonderful time writing Sebastian
and Charlie’s story. And yes, there were a few times we brought tears to our
eyes!

In Reckless in Love,
you’ll meet a lovely woman named Francine Ballard, Charlie’s mother. Francine
didn’t come entirely from our imaginations. She’s the embodiment of two amazing
ladies we are so lucky to know personally. And I’ve had the honor of knowing
one of them for my entire life. Meet Doris Beach (my mom) and Judy Moffett (my
mother’s best friend). Unfortunately they both suffer from arthritis, and
Judy’s arthritis is severely degenerative. They both have lost the ability to
do many of the things they love because of the pain they live with. But they
never give up. My mom does water exercises three times a week and walks a mile
the other four days. And Judy walks a mile each day as well, despite the bolts
holding her ankle together. Each and every day, they put one foot in front of
the other and carry on. Because if they didn’t, they might not be able to walk
at all. They might be confined to wheelchairs. I have never known more
courageous ladies. They will both celebrate their ninetieth birthdays this
year. I hope that at their age, I will have as much courage and as much joy as
they have. They both have my love. Happy birthday, Mom! Happy Birthday, Judy!
May we all strive to be like you!

And now let me tell you about Reckless
in Love. You’ve already met Sebastian in Breathless in Love,
and now he will find his true love, Charlie…

Sebastian
Montgomery rose from nothing to become one of the most powerful media moguls in
the world. Yet beneath the seemingly perfect façade of his life, the past still
haunts him. Because when he lost his parents in his teens, he also lost his
faith in love. When he discovers Charlie Ballard and her incredible metal
sculptures, he is awed, inspired—and he can’t help feeling things he swore
never to let himself feel again. Soon, Sebastian wants not only Charlie’s art,
he wants her as a woman, too. More than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.
And what a Maverick wants, he always gets…

For
Charlie, Sebastian offers the commission of a lifetime. Creating a magnificent
sculpture for his new headquarters is a dream come true, but falling for the
spellbinding billionaire isn’t part of the plan... until his luscious kisses
entice her into total recklessness. He fascinates and captivates her, and as
Charlie learns more about the dark depths of Sebastian’s past, all she wants is
to heal him with her love. But can a man who has grown up thinking love is
toxic ever believe that true love is real?

CHAPTER
ONE

Charlie Ballard had one hell of an imagination.

Sebastian Montgomery marveled at the garden of creatures
fashioned from junkyard scrap glowing beneath the hot California sun. A
magnificent lion roared, its flowing mane a fabrication of railroad spikes. An
elephant trumpeted—literally, its trunk shaped from two trumpets fitted
together, its body and legs forged from various old musical instruments. Two
rams, their ginormous antlers constructed of rolled corrugated-tin roofing,
were pitted against each other in a battle to the death. There were smaller
works as well—lizards cut from what appeared to be rusted car doors, and some
strange, scorpion-like insects built with nuts, bolts, screws, and claws formed
from the blades of old pruning shears.

Ms. Ballard’s artwork spoke to something deep in Sebastian’s
core that was as primal as the beasts she’d welded with the blaze of her torch.
Her vision was so clear, so pure, that a sense of awe radiated through his
chest. Awe at the way she put it all out there—her energy, her whole soul, and
every ounce of passion, for everyone to see—and how in her brilliant hands,
metal came to life. Inanimate objects became real. Became magical.

Her metal menagerie touched his soul, if for no other reason
than the fact that she’d constructed something so momentous from everyday junk.

To most people, this acre lot in the Los Altos Hills area of
the San Francisco Peninsula would look like a junkyard filled with car parts;
tractor seats; saw blades; pitchforks; barrels of nuts, bolts, nails, and
rivets; and metal scrap of everything from ancient barbecue grills to sewer
grates. But Sebastian understood that they were her art supplies—and were far
more important than a green lawn or fancy landscaping. The fact that her house
and detached garage had seen better days in no way detracted from the genius of
the artistry strewn across the property.

Sebastian removed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves
of his white dress shirt as he headed toward the ramshackle single garage,
through which he could hear the screech of welding equipment. His heartbeat was
already well into overdrive from the incredibly beautiful sculptures—and his
fingers were itching to sketch everything around him. He got his first sight of
Charlie standing in beams of sunlight streaming down through two
Plexiglas-covered holes in the roof, her protective face shield up now and her
welding torch off. Sebastian’s heart stilled in his chest with renewed wonder.

Because he finally knew what true beauty was.

Charlie’s temples and forehead were dented from the welding
mask while her glossy hair shone with hues of red and gold in the sunbeams
cascading from above. She snapped a restraining hairband loose and ran her
fingers through lusciously messy curls, letting them spill over her shoulders.
Sebastian was instantly caught up in a vision of burying his hands, his face,
his mouth in all that incredible red hair.

Removing a heavy smock that safeguarded her arms and body,
she revealed a pair of stained and faded farmer-style overalls, beneath which
she wore a tank top. Her arms flexed with a fine ripple of muscle, a gorgeous
creation of bone, sinew, muscle, and smooth skin.

Of all the works of
art on Charlie Ballard’s land, the woman herself was by far the most stunning,
more radiant and fierce than any sculpture could ever be. So stunning that only
one thought remained.

He had to have her.

At last, she turned sparkling green eyes in his direction.
“You’re here,” she said as if she’d been waiting for him all her life.

And when he answered, “Yes, I’m here,” for a moment he
actually felt as if he’d discovered his destiny.

That thought was pure whimsy; he’d found his destiny the
first time he stood on a stage and encouraged people to change their lives. But
everything about Charlie Ballard and her creations made him feel as though he’d
walked into a fantasy. One where the normal rules didn’t apply, and the only
thing that mattered was passion—passion for both the art that surrounded him
and the woman who’d created it.

Which was why he didn’t hold back, didn’t bother to act
nonchalant. “You’re a genius.”

Her eyes went wide with surprise at his compliment for a
split second, before she smiled at him. One perfect smile that rocked his world
yet again. “Thank you.”

She didn’t ask him to tell her which was his favorite piece,
didn’t press for more compliments, and he was struck by her quiet confidence.
It was something he’d found to be extremely rare when most people were
desperate for as many ego strokes as they could get.

“Let me introduce myself.” He held out his hand, dying to
feel her skin against his. “Sebastian Montgomery.”

“Charlie Ballard.”

An electrical charge ran through him as she slid her hand
into his. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so deeply affected. Her grip was firm,
with a ridge of calluses along her palm. She wore no flowery scent, just the
heady aroma of woman and the metals she worked with. His world was filled with
women who glittered with jewels and smelled like designer perfume. But Charlie
Ballard sparkled with life, and all her contrasts intrigued him. The gorgeous
red hair and steel-toed work boots. The sexy tank top and old overalls. The
slightly upturned nose and kiss-me lips that she’d hidden beneath a welding
mask. Lips that were now curving into a ghost of a smile, as if she’d felt that
same zap of electricity when they came skin to skin.

He nearly asked if he could kiss her. Instead, he forced
himself to keep that question under wraps for the time being. “Is Charlie short
for something?”

“My parents named me Charlotte. But as we all soon
discovered—” She held the baggy overalls out to each side with a grin. “—I was
more of a Charlie.”

No, even at first glance he could see she was both—the
beauty and the tomboy. Beneath the drab fabric, he could easily guess at her
curves, the indentation of her waist, the taut length of leg. Again, the urge
to sketch her—and all her magnificent creations—was stronger than it had ever been
for him before.

Sebastian’s
art broker, Xander Smith, had set up the appointment for three o’clock. Xander
would have attended, but a last-minute crisis demanded his attention. Now
Sebastian was glad he’d had the chance to see the elephant and the fighting
rams for the first time with no one else around. And he definitely didn’t want
to share his time with Charlie.

He’d
already told her she was a genius. Reminding himself that going on about her
beauty at this stage in the game would definitely be pushing things too far, he
said, “I’m a bit early, but I’m glad that gave me time to tour your garden.”

She
laughed, and the sound was throaty, deeper than he’d expected from a woman who
was almost a foot shorter than he. Granted, he was tall at six-three, and her
work boots added a couple of inches to her height, but her head still didn’t
reach higher than his shoulder.

“I
wouldn’t exactly call it a garden,” she said in a smooth, soft tone that
only served to stoke his attraction to her.

As
they talked, he led her back out into her yard, wanting to see her beauty amid
all the splendor she’d created. “How about a menagerie?”

She
smiled again, and he simply couldn’t control his response to it, his body
heating up several degrees just looking at her. Just standing so close. Her
smile was as beautiful as everything else about her, even the lingering dents
in her forehead from the face shield and the shimmer of perspiration on her
cheeks and upper lip.

“Now
that’s a diplomatic term.” Her smile was wry as well as beautiful. Intelligent
too. She rested her hands on her hips, her boots planted apart in the
dust and gravel. “Mr. Smith said you liked my dragon.”

“Please, he’s Xander and I’m Sebastian. And like most art
brokers, he prefers to keep things understated. But I don’t. Which is why you
need to know I think your dragon is magnificent.”

“Magnificent.” She repeated the word as though she was more
than a little surprised by his reaction to her art. She tipped her chin at the
collection in the yard. “Most people call it junk.”

Sebastian was impressed by how well she hid any sense of
offense at the word junk. Still, he’d built his career on looking
beneath the surface of people, and he could see that it did, in fact, hurt her.
Maybe only a little, but he knew all too well how the small hurts could add up.
Especially when it came to one’s art and creative dreams.

Forcefully pushing away the thought of the dreams he’d given
up so long ago, he told her, “I’m not most people. And I appreciate beauty when
I see it.”

“I’ll take genius,” she said with another smile. “I’ll even
let you get away with magnificent. But beauty?” She shook her head. “That’s
going a bit too far.”

“No, it isn’t. Take the elephant, for example. I’m amazed by
the way the instruments fit the contours of the body, the legs, even the ears.
How did you do it?”

“I used the bells from a couple of old sousaphones I found.”

She said it as though it had been the easiest thing in the
world, but he knew better. Knew just how hard it was to bring your vision to life.
Knew, in fact, that it could be impossible to see that vision work out just
right. But she’d done it not only with the elephant, but also with every other
creature in her garden. And with an effortlessness that blew his mind.

“I suspect you’re the only artist on the planet who can take
the bell from a sousaphone and make it look as if an elephant’s ears are
flapping.”

She tipped her head as if he’d just performed an astonishing
feat. “Nobody’s ever seen the intended effect before. I had to beat them into
submission, of course—bend the rims, manipulate, and add to them, but that’s
exactly what I was going for. Flapping
ears.” She caressed the tubes forming the basic structure of the
animal’s haunches and he swore he could feel the heat of her touch all along
his own muscles. “I used the tuning slides and the rest of the sousaphones back
here. I’ve always thought musical instruments were like diamonds, that you
should never throw them away.”

He turned to find her startlingly green eyes on him again.
The marks of the mask were starting to fade, leaving a beauty so pure, so
fresh, it stunned him all over again. Even if her art hadn’t blown his mind,
Charlie herself was worth the price of admission to her backyard art museum.

“You found all this in junkyards?”

“And thrift shops. Parents make their kids join the school
band, but after two years those kids hate it. And bye-bye trombone.” She threw
out her arm, and again he saw the play of muscles in her shoulders and along
her throat. “I saw the sousaphone first. It looked like an elephant’s ear—and
suddenly I knew I needed to bring him to life.” She spread her hands to
encompass the structure made up of saxophones and horns, tubas and flutes, even
drums. “It took me five years to find all the instruments.”

“Five years?” She continued to surprise him. “For one
project?”

“I worked on other pieces at the same time. And I also teach
welding over at the junior college.”

“It still shows a great deal of dedication to one vision.”
He understood that kind of dedication. At the age of eighteen, he and his four
best friends, the Mavericks, had vowed to get out of the Chicago hellhole of a
neighborhood they’d been born into and strike it big. They’d all made good on
that pact. Clearly, Charlie Ballard had the same kind of single-minded vision.

“Five years of dedication to a piece of junk I can’t even
give away,” she said with a smile. A smile content enough that he suddenly
wondered if she’d ever really tried to find a buyer.

“Are you going to try selling it to me?”

“Do you want her?” Her eyes lit with humor as she nodded
toward her small house on the other side of the acre. “I could use a new roof.”

This time, he was the one laughing out loud. “Maybe one day
I’ll succumb to the need to take the elephant home with me, but today I’m not
here for the elephant, the ram, the lion, the lizards, or the scorpions.”

“Scorpions?” She shook her head. “They’re Zanti Misfits from
The Outer Limits.”

“You mean that sci-fi TV show from the nineties?”

“Not the remake,” she said with obvious disgust. “The
original.”

He was hard-pressed to fight back his grin at just how much
fun it was to talk with her. He couldn’t remember the last time fun had
factored into his relationship with a woman. Especially a lady he was
senselessly attracted to. Not only was her art magnificent, but so was she. He
wanted her with a sweet kick of desire low in his gut.

“Tell me more about these Misfits.” Lord knew he’d felt like
one when he was a kid, living with two alcoholics who often forgot they even
had a son.

“They used to do TV marathons of The Outer Limits
when I was a little kid,” she explained. “They had the worst special effects,
but the stories were great. ‘The Zanti
Misfits’was my favorite episode—all about expecting the
unexpected. My dad had a big barrel of nuts, bolts, and screws in his workshop,
and I was so inspired by the show I swear they seemed to build themselves. They
were my very first sculptures, and every once in a while, even though I already
have a zillion of them, I have to make another.”

Suddenly, Sebastian realized there were Misfits creeping
around everywhere. Small compared to the rest of her work, they were still
fierce little creatures, their pruning-shear claws ready to snip the toes off
trespassers.

“Is that how you get your ideas?” He wanted to plumb her
creative depths, her mind. Hell, he wanted to delve into every single part of
her. “You see something that inspires you and you just start building?”

“Sometimes,” she mused, and he appreciated that all his
questions didn’t seem to bother her. “Or sometimes it’s a place, like the
church in San Francisco where you saw my dragon sculpture.” The sun created a
rainbow of reds in her hair. “A dragon was meant to sweep its tail over the
path, barely missing Sunday parishioners. So I walked inside and asked if there
was any interest in my building one for them.”

Every day Sebastian put himself out there in a seminar or
book or TV presentation. Through his company, Montgomery Media International,
he strove to help other people fulfill their destinies, something he found
extremely gratifying. But though it seemed he didn’t have any secrets, the
truth was that he’d never offered strangers a piece of his heart and soul. And
he sure as hell wasn’t willing to expose what he created to anyone, deliberately
keeping his drawings
locked away in his den at home. He was the exact opposite of Charlie, who was
so easy about his visit to her studio, so relaxed in answering his questions,
so carefree about the idea of asking a church if she could build them a
sculpture of a dragon.

Then
again, Charlie’s talent was in performing a miraculous metamorphosis of junk
heaps into amazing creatures, whereas his talent was in helping people
transform themselves. He’d wisely given up his dreams of being an artist a long
time ago, had accepted as a teenager that he’d never see his work hung on a
gallery wall.

He
ran a hand through his hair, not sure why he kept spinning back to the past
today. Especially when it was the future he was far more interested in—one that
had Charlie Ballard playing a starring role.

“I’m glad the church was smart enough to be interested. And
I hope they paid you well for the dragon. It’s unlike any sculpture I’ve ever
seen.”

“It’s Chinatown and everyone loves the dragon at Chinese New
Year, so I gave it to them. The dragon couldn’t have lived anywhere else.” She
gestured to her crowded garden. “Not even here.”

He supported numerous charities, but he still frowned upon
hearing that she hadn’t been paid for her work. “You don’t need to give your sculptures
away for free.”

She raised an eyebrow at the slight scolding in his tone and
answered him back just as firmly. “I do just fine, thanks.”

He liked that she had an independent streak, her spirit
matching her strong, lithe body. He liked everything about her a great deal, in
fact. And yet, she really did need that new roof, one she could easily afford
if any other collectors discovered her talent. And if she were willing to
charge for her art’s true worth.

What, he suddenly wondered, was holding her back from being
the superstar that lurked inside her? With her talent, she brought out the
majesty in mere junk, like revealing the swan hiding inside the ugly duckling.
She had huge vision and saw shape and form in things that no one else could
even begin to imagine. So why wasn’t her metal statuary displayed all over the
world, in museums and buildings and parks?

Sebastian vowed to find out. But first he needed to convince
her to work with him. “I’m opening a high-rise office in San Francisco at the
end of September.” He’d taken over an existing structure and was rebuilding it
to suit his needs, including a production studio. It would be his new
headquarters and that of the Maverick Group as well. “There’s a fountain in the
lobby center.” He let silence beat for three seconds. “It needs you.” I need
you. The thought hit him hard, right in the solar plexus, where no other
woman had ever gotten to him. “It needs one of your sculptures.”

“You want to commission me to design something?” She still
sounded as though she couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

Had no one ever let her know just how extraordinary she was
before today?

“I’m planning a grand opening for the building, attended by
friends, business associates, clients, customers, art enthusiasts. The fountain
and its statue—the one you’re going to create for me—will be the centerpiece of
the event.” Her work would be seen by everyone who was anyone in San Francisco
and beyond. But it was more than her work that he wanted people to discover and
appreciate. “We won’t just unveil your art, we’ll unveil you to the
world too.”

She didn’t jump at his offer. Didn’t do anything for long
enough that he actually began to worry she might say no. Though he couldn’t
understand why she would possibly turn down his offer.

“Well,” she finally said, “I am off school for summer break.
Classes don’t start again until the fall.”

He eased closer, catching the perfume of woman and sparks.
He wanted her art—and her—more than he’d ever wanted anything or anyone
before in his life. “Is there anything else standing in your way?”

She paused again, her expression shifting in ways he
couldn’t quite understand. There was excitement there, but also wariness and
continued confusion. At last she said, “No, I guess not.”

Now that her mind was made up, she looked at him directly,
her eyes glittering like emeralds. In an instant, the spark of desire lit
between them again.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” she asked.

You. In my bed. For a month straight. Longer than that.
For as long as I can convince you to stay.

But what he said instead was, “A stallion.”

The sweet and sultry sound of her laughter made it nearly
impossible not to reach for her, to drag her into his arms and find out if her
mouth tasted as sweet as it looked.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” She gave him a slow
blink, then a sexy arch of her eyebrows. “Although I was thinking more in terms
of a T-Rex.”

“A killer dinosaur?” His own laugh rumbled up. Only his
fellow Mavericks could make him laugh so easily. But despite her baggy overalls
and vast skills with power tools, she was worlds away from being one of the
guys.

She pointed at the garage. “Didn’t you see my masterpiece
inside?” She said the word masterpiece far too mockingly.

He spoke the absolute truth. “I saw only you.”

She stilled, blinked, and the afternoon heat wrapped around
them, tugging him another step closer. So close that he could practically feel
the heat radiating from her skin to his.

“You really should see the T-Rex.” She murmured the words as
if they were talking about moonlit nights rather than a vicious dinosaur made
out of all manner of sharp castoffs. “I’m building it out of road signs riddled
with bullet holes. Battle-scarred, but alive and kicking despite its hunters.”

“Isn’t the T-Rex the hunter?”

“They’re misunderstood,” she supplied simply. “But the truth
is, even if you like him, I have to let your space speak to me first. And if
you want me to build something for you—” She held his gaze, her finger just
short of tapping his nose. “—you have to let the space choose what’s right.”

Charlie’s property clearly needed more than a new roof. But
instead of rolling over like most artists who were desperate to sell their
work, she wouldn’t be pushed. He was amazed that she appeared to be as open as
her art—no artifice, nothing to hide. No smoke, no mirrors. Easygoing
Charlie-not-Charlotte. And he found her more attractive than any glittering,
cosmetically enhanced celebrity or society woman he’d ever dated. More
intriguing.

More everything.

“Deal. The space chooses the sculpture.” He reached for his
checkbook, then pulled a pen from the pocket over his heart. He wrote the
numbers, signed his name, and handed her the check.

She read, gripping the paper tightly between her fingers as
if a sudden gust of wind might whip it away. But when she raised her eyes, her
beautifully lush mouth was a flat line. “This is a joke.”

“I never joke about a hundred thousand dollars. I know that
whatever you fill my empty space with will end up being worth more than that,
Charlie.” As he held her gaze and said, “A hell of a lot more,” he wondered if
she understood that he was talking about far more than her work.

Because something told Sebastian that Charlie just might be
his destiny after all.